


Like It Is

by The_Kawaiiest_Cannibal



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: 50's AU, Bill is a beatnik, Dipper is a writer, M/M, Mature Rating For Later Chapters, Older Characters, things get jazzy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 11:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7506529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kawaiiest_Cannibal/pseuds/The_Kawaiiest_Cannibal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the sweet year of 1956 the twins set out once again for their childhood vacation spot of Gravity Falls, Oregon, in search of inspiration and embroidery floss. Thank you to @toasted-pearls for your thorough beta reading!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Song for this chapter: The Shadow Knows by Link Wray

Prologue

  
Dipper stared blankly at the half finished manuscript before him.  His thoughts began to slip away from the logistical problem of how Dip Handsome would escape from  the haunted moon mansion, and began to wander to stale memories of big brooding pine forests and spooky swamps; of the cold Pacific Northwest air that clears the mind and heightens the senses. The constricting suburban environment of LA was hardly the place to conjure up stories that would thrill and chill. Dipper could not remain in the oppressive California heat; not if he wanted to write.

“Mabel!” Dipper called, wiping the sweat from his brow “don’t you think it’s about time we drove back up to Gravity Falls?” 

Mabel bounced into the room, her long mop of hair peppered with the usual swath of wildflowers which were wilting in the humidity. The girl herself, however, seemed unaffected by the heat and smiled with bright anticipation at her brother. “That sounds like a dreamy idea! We haven’t seen Grunkle Stan in forever! Plus I think I left some pink embroidery floss up there.” 

“It’s settled then! I’ll pack up the car and we can head out tomorrow morning” Dipper said cheerfully. 

“Tomorrow? Isn’t that a little soon?”

“I don’t know how much longer I can stand this heat. It’s stifling my creativity.”

Mabel rolled her eyes.

“Alright you big baby, just don’t forget to bring food for the road like last time. We had to live on gas station trail mix all the way till Redding, remember?” She reminded him in mock condescension.

“Yeah, yeah I remember.” Dipper shot back, “I promise it’ll be the first thing I pack.”

  
Chapter One

  
“Paper: Check. Pencils: Check. Typewriter: Check. Glasses:” Dipper felt the bridge of his nose, “Check.” Dipper muttered off the list of supplies as he tested the bungee cords holding the twins’ suitcases to the luggage rack on top of the car.” Alright Mabel, she’s all ready to go!” Dipper hollered. Mabel appeared in the doorway looking slightly annoyed. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked, hefting a red plastic cooler between her arms.

“Oh right, the food.”

“What happened to ‘it’ll be I first thing I pack?’” 

“It was the first thing I packed. I just… forgot to bring it out.” 

“Pshhhh, you dork.” Mabel said, slapping her brother playfully on the arm before setting the cooler in the trunk. 

“Alright, now she’s ready to go.” Dipper announced with finality.

The Pines twins buckled their seatbelts, tuned their car radio to some snazzy road trip grooves, and set their sights for the greener pastures of Gravity Falls Oregon. Toward inspiration, and embroidery floss.

…. 

Dipper and Mabel arrived in Gravity Falls late in the evening. Mabel was snoozing in the passenger seat, and Dipper, who had volunteered to take the last leg of the drive, was at the wheel. He had the radio was turned down to a low buzz to keep from disturbing her, which  only added to the supernatural atmosphere as they rolled into town. Shadows loomed on the wood paneling of the houses they passed like lingering ghosts or Dracula’s silhouette. This was the inspiration that Dipper had been craving to write his pulp novellas. The spooky feel of the town after all,  had motivated him to write the adventure stories of Dip Handsome in the first place. In fact, it almost looked as if there was a foreboding figure standing in the middle of the road at that very moment.

“Ah!” Dipper yelled, swerving to avoid  a collision. Mabel started awake as Dipper flung open the car door to  see if anyone was hurt. “What the heck was that?” she asked groggily, but Dipper was already out of the car, looking around in bewilderment at the empty dirt road that surrounded them. “I thought I hit someone… there was a shadow in the middle of the road,” he explained as Mabel came to stand beside him. “Well, I don’t see anyone here. I think someone’s getting a case of the sleepytime hallucinations.“ 

“But I really saw someone!”

“Mm-hm, and I’m president Eisenhower. Now give me the keys. I think the Mystery Shack is just around the block.”

Mabel’s estimation was correct, and within a few minutes the pair was pulling up in the parking lot of their childhood vacation spot.

“Who’s there?! Shop’s closed!” questioned a crusty voice from the darkness. The twins were temporarily blinded by the bright beam of a flashlight  before they recognized the unmistakable form of Grunkle Stan shuffling aggressively across the parking lot.

“It’s us Grunkle Stan!” cried Mabel, capturing her Great Uncle in a big bear hug as he dropped his flashlight in surprise. Dipper was not far behind and jogged up to join them in the embrace. “Sorry we didn’t let you know we were coming ahead of time Grunkle Stan, it was sort of a spur of the moment decision,” Dipper  explained sheepishly.

“You crazy kids. What do you think this is, a motel?” Grunkle Stan said, shoving the twins off with his usual faux crabbiness. He began to hobble back towards the door.

“Hurry up and get inside, the mosquitoes’ll eat you alive out here” he called after them. The twins smiled knowingly at each other and hurried to catch up with their Great Uncle.

….

“So, what have you little punks been up to since I saw ya last?” asked Grunkle Stan. All three of them were gathered round the kitchen table with steaming hot cups of instant hot chocolate that  Stan had expertly prepared in the microwave.

“Well, Mabel’s started selling her crafts at a little store in town,” Dipper explained. “The teenyboppers really love the dreamcatchers and bright colored bracelets. And of course I’m still writing my adventure novels.” 

“The little five-cent pulps?”

“They’ve actually gone up to ten cents,” Dipper said proudly. 

“Wow.  What’s that, a whole five-cent profit?” Grunkle Stan asked sarcastically.

“It’s not all about the profit Grunkle Stan. I write because it’s my passion.” At this, both Mabel and Grunkle Stan burst into a fit of laughter. 

“C’mon guys, it’s not that funny.” 

Dipper sipped sourly on his cocoa until Mabel and Grunkle Stan finally calmed down enough to put a sentence together. “Whew. Nothin’ wears you out like a good laugh,” said Grunkle Stan.  “I don’t know about you two but I’m going to bed.” Everyone said their goodnights and soon Dipper was in his room, unable to fall asleep as his mind continually returned to the haunting vision of the shadowy figure he had seen in the road. Despite his extreme exhaustion, Dipper opted to stay up several hours typing up a new manuscript called “The Midnight Shadow.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song for this chapter: Bert's Blues by Donovan

After practically falling asleep in his scrambled eggs the following morning, Dipper decided that a trip to Greasy’s Diner for a good strong cup of coffee might be an order. He packed along the last few pages of his manuscript and a notebook so he could continue writing the next chapter by hand and avoid making awkward eye contact with the other patrons of the restaurant. “Why is that Dipper Pines I see?” called Lazy Susan as Dipper entered the restaurant. Dipper could feel an embarrassed blush spread across his face as all eyes of the customers turned to him “Heh heh, yep, it’s me” he said, giving Lazy Susan a slight friendly wave as he quickly slipped into an empty booth as far away from the other customers as possible. Soon enough the usual chatter resumed and Dipper pulled his notebook to set to work on chapter seven. ‘ After hours of searching, Dip Handsome finally had the elusive roadside apparition cornered. He shone his handy flashlight on the strange creature, only to reveal-

“What’ll you have?” 

Dipper shot up in his seat as he realized that Lazy Susan had come to take his order and struggled to catch several papers that were about to go flying off the table.

“Just a coffee, thank you Susan” he replied, grinning self-consciously.

“Just a coffee? Aren’t you going to stick around?”

“Stick around for what?”

“Oh don’t you know,” said Lazy Susan, leaning in conspiratorially, “there’s going to be a poetry reading in about an hour. A writer fella like yourself ought to be interested in something like that.”

“Hmm, maybe I’ll have a piece of pie with that coffee then.” 

…

Dipper wondered why it was suddenly becoming difficult to see what he was writing in his notebook and looked up to see that the lights were being dimmed in the restaurant. He realized that an hour had came and went and he had scarcely noticed for being absorbed in his work. He looked on with interest to where Lazy Susan had just finished announcing the name of the poet who was now walking onto a small space that had been cleared  near the jukebox and equipped with a slightly buzzy microphone. His style of dress was not quite like anything Dipper had ever seen before, and he leaned out of his booth slightly to get a better view. The man was clad in a black turtleneck with tight drainpipe blue jeans, only comparable to the ones Dipper had sometimes seen on auto mechanics. He also observed that the stranger’s haircut was asymmetrical, so that a good majority of the his bangs drooped listlessly into his right eye. Perhaps the man was an out of towner. Dipper had never seen anyone else in this God forsaken town inclined to write poetry, so it would make sense.

The stranger delicately removed the microphone from it’s holder, taking a dignified stance on his makeshift stage. “The Head that Never Stops Screaming. By Bill.” he announced. The fellow took a dramatic breath and began to read off the paper in hand. “Reality is an illusion/ the pipe dream puffed out from the steam clouds passing down the transpacific railway/ A single wheel goes a thousand miles a day but brother have you ever touched with your feet these wide United States?” He gestured wildly, painting pictures of mountains and steam pipes in the air as he spoke, and began to stroll across the diner with the microphone. Dipper was rapt by the imagery and thought it a very good poem so far. However, the tone of Bill’s spoken word shifted rather quickly to something much more accusatory and steadily increasing in volume. “But is any one of us in a United State? Kill the reds, says the one side/Kill the pigs says the other/Let’s all take a Russian blood bath, then we’ll all be red my brother!” Bill suddenly stopped mid-stride near Dipper’s table and Dipper was taken aback as Bill began to shriek wildly into the microphone. “THE UNIVERSE IS A SPACE-AGE HOLOGRAM!” he cackled, “NOTHING MATTERS! IN THE END YOU ARE JUST A POOL OF BLOOD AND DEER TEETH LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!” The man collapsed on the floor near Dipper’s table and let his head roll sideways in mock death. He made eye contact with Dipper for one terrifying enthralling second before closing his eyes and letting his tongue hang limply from his mouth. The crowd was sufficiently suspended in mortified silence, and Bill immediately rose to his feet just as genteelly as he had carried himself at the start of his “performance,” and placed himself nonchalantly at the lunch counter as if he had been doing nothing at all. The lights slowly flickered to their normal fluorescence. “An espresso please.” Dipper heard the man say. Everyone in the restaurant seemed a tad dazed and Lazy Susan missed the cup several times as she poured Bill his coffee. Dipper felt embarrassed for even having to had witnessed such a spectacle. He began to feverently re-read the draft of his novella so he could absorb himself in prose that didn’t scream. 

“This would be much better if the horror of the forest was actually ‘Dip Handsome’s’ realization of inevitable death. Just saying.”

“Ah Christ!!” Dipper exclaimed, finding Bill looming over his shoulder with espresso in hand and a fistfull of Dipper’s manuscript.

“You could make him a Christ figure too. Frankly, anything is better than the ending you’ve got now where he ends up defeating the monster and marrying this Wendiline character. “

“Give me that!” Dipper said, snatching the manuscript from Bill’s hand. “Nobody asked you.”

Bill slid into the booth opposite Dipper. “Well of course nobody asked me. Writers never ask anybody because they’re a bunch of big babies who can’t handle criticism. “

“And I suppose you can handle criticism about your poetry?” Dipper asked pointedly.

“Naturally. Go on, tell me something you think needed improvement about The Head That Never Stops Screaming.”

“Well… the imagery got a little violent toward the end.”

Bill cocked an eyebrow and took a drawn out sip of espresso. “Ah I see. But of course when Dip Handsome eviscerates the Midnight Shadow midway through chapter seven that’s not violent imagery.”

“But that’s an action scene!” Dipper shot back defensively.

“Tomatoes, tamatos.” said Bill with shrug. It was hard not to see Bill’s point, but Dipper was determined to dish out as much literary criticism as he had been given.

“The screaming was also a bit unsettling.”

At this Bill burst into a fit of laughter which was reedy and thin like someone choking, and loud enough to regain the attention of everyone in the diner. 

“You, heheh, you act as if that wasn’t my intention. That’s rich.” Bill giggled condescendingly. “You know Dip, if nothing else, you’re a horrifically good laugh.” Dipper could feel a hundred eyes bearing down on their little two by six stretch of booth, and he had had just about enough of this man across from him who was increasingly proving to be a loud and embarrassing nutcase. He deftly gathered up all his papers, shoved them unceremoniously in his bag, and dashed for the diner door. “See you on the flip Dippy!” Bill called. “Bye Dipper!” added Lazy Susan.


End file.
